Bali. A little island that glows from space beside the much larger lights of Java, a place long known as the Island of the Gods, has made its way into my heart.

A place where every cock-a-doodle-do I heard, I laughed and thought, "that's a funny sounding kookaburra!" I was told that anyone who feels called to Bali is believed to have lived here before, and that coming to the island is a coming home.

I’ve always avoided Bali in my travels. As an Aussie, I’d mainly heard gross and embarrassing stories of drunk Aussies disrespecting Balinese people, culture and country while chasing waves, cheap beer, tattoos and weird cosmetic surgery. Bali seemed like a place people went to consume, rather than somewhere they went to really experience. Sadly, that’s true of a lot of unsustainable tourism around the world.

I remember reading Wild by Jay Griffiths and learning how Bali’s cruel history of invasion and massacre was followed by colonial ‘authorities’ scurrying to rewrite their own story. Bali was repackaged as a peaceful, untouched paradise. It was marketed as exotic, spiritual, artistic and somehow frozen in time. Meanwhile, the violence used to conquer it was quietly pushed out of sight.

The island’s temples, rituals, dances, landscapes and people became part of the spectacle, sold to outsiders as an experience. Tourism didn’t just come to Bali. Bali was deliberately imagined and marketed for it. A sacred and living culture became something the rest of the world could consume.

And consume it, they do.

The first time I came to Bali was for the final intensive of my yoga teacher training. As retreats often are, it was a beautiful experience. Sadly, though, it was also the place where I ignored my intuition telling me Pokes wasn’t well. There was never really an integration of that first Bali experience because I came home and watched the little love of my life cross the rainbow bridge.

Maybe, part of me needed to return.

Night one, I booked a room beside the temple in Candidasa. I arrived during Kuningan, the closing day of the Galungan celebration, when the ancestral spirits who have been visiting their families are believed to return to the heavenly realm.

Galungan is when Balinese Hindu families welcome the ancestral spirits of deceased relatives back to their former homes. It’s not just a festival. It’s a reunion between the living and the dead. Homes and family temples are cleaned and decorated, offerings are prepared, and prayers are made to welcome the ancestors with respect, gratitude and hospitality.

Kuningan is the farewell. It’s the closing of the ancestral visit, when the spirits return to the unseen world. The living continues their offering with love, respect and remembrance, keeping their relationship with those who came before them alive.

Hahaha, of course I booked a room beside a sacred ancestral farewell!

That probably also explains why I dreamed of multiple Buddhas and protection that first night. I woke up early to check out the sunrise and heard music, so I went for a 6am walk. The path around the lagoon was pumping with offerings, incense, food stalls and music. It’s so beautiful to see that the spiritual world isn’t hidden inside a church or mosque. It’s woven into everywhere, everyone and everything.

There’s something really moving about seeing an entire culture remember and nurture those who came before. Bali is definitely an island of devotion, one where the relationship between humans, ancestors, nature and the divine is woven into everyday life.

Flowers, rice, incense and prayer are offered daily in homes, temples, villages, cars, entrances, doorways, shrines, beaches and roadsides, while new and full moons bring ceremony every 15 days. The spiritual world is literally kept alive through constant ritual.

I can talk up the beauty of Bali, but love and light always have a shadow. At the parade, there were brightly dyed baby chicks and ducklings for sale. That was sad. I watched a little boy running around on the grass with his baby duckling, dropping it, chasing it and squishing it a little in that innocent but rough way children sometimes do when they don’t yet understand how fragile life is.

My heart broke a bit. I really am too much of an empath for some countries. I patted so many dogs, puppies and cats while also feeling their pain, hunger and vulnerability. I suppose Bali reminds me that love and heartbreak exist alongside each other, and that I shouldn’t look away from either.

From Candidasa, I went to Jasri, a peaceful little village sitting between the coast and Mount Agung. The volcano became the backdrop to my next couple of weeks, appearing and disappearing behind the clouds daily.

I was told a story that, during the 1990s, when other volcanoes in the Ring of Fire were expected to erupt and locals evacuated, Mount Agung didn’t erupt because mantras and prayers were being offered around the clock. Whether or not that’s 100% accurate, it says something about the relationship between the Balinese people, prayer and the natural world.

There are statues everywhere in Bali. Some are wrapped in black and white checked cloth, some are covered in moss, flowers and the remains of morning offerings. They’re not just decorations though, they’re protectors, storytellers and a cool reminder that the visible, 3d world is only one part of life.

I recognised some of the statues, like Shiva and Ganesha, but obviously, I didn’t know every god, guardian, demon or mythical creature on the street. It’s cool though that the stories aren’t locked inside books and churches though. They’re standing in the streets for everyone to see.

I didn’t head to Bali just for a holiday. It was a last-minute decision to join a deep dive into the five elements of Traditional Chinese Medicine, mixed with Zen Thai Shiatsu and a group of gorgeous humans.

I’m so stoked I said yes to it.

What a whirlwind of learning and connection. I still need to get my head around the very tip of the iceberg of the five elements of TCM, but writing will help me. I’m sure I’ll share more about it at some point.

I spent my final few days with a scooter, cruising through villages almost untouched by tourism. Riding through them kind of felt medieval at times, but in a way that was entirely alive. There were rice fields, bamboo forests, monkeys running across the road, street dogs sleeping in the sun and children with enormous smiles waving and calling hello as I passed.

Obviously, some parts of Bali have been more consumed than others. My time here was super calm and didn’t involve even the tiniest bit of craziness. I’ve never really been one for tourist hot spots, quick photos and surface-level connections with locals (or anyone).

I chatted daily with the staff at the local café until they knew my coffee order. I laughed with the drivers, got lots of cuddles and bodywork, had loads of fun with a five-year-old called Hallie and his little brothers, swam in the ocean every day, paddled the board out to the waves but didn’t catch one, and watched the sun rise over the ocean, every single morning.

One thing I still want to experience in Bali is Nyepi, the Balinese Day of Silence.

The night before Nyepi, enormous demon-like figures called ogoh-ogoh are carried through the streets with music, fire, shouting and noise. The processions symbolically draw out disruptive forces, darkness and imbalance, giving the community an opportunity to acknowledge and clear them.

Then, the following morning, the entire island goes silent. For 24 hours, there’s no unnecessary light or fire, no work, no travel and no entertainment. Roads are empty, businesses close and even Bali’s international airport closes for the day. Some Balinese people spend the day fasting, meditating, reflecting and resting and visitors are expected to stay quietly at their accommodation.

This is brilliant! First, they bring the demons and shadows out where they can be seen. Make noise, name them, give them form and parade them through the streets. Then they stop working, turn off the lights, stay home and be still. Letting the island, the land and the people rest. It’s like a giant game of hide and seek that the whole island is part of! Maybe that’s why all the demons have gone to other countries to create havoc. Other places aren’t nearly as good at recognising them, making space for them and then telling them when it’s time to leave!

As for me, I’m leaving Bali with a clear head, a full heart, a shit ton of photos, some new things to write about….. and fuck all waves caught! I suppose, sometimes, I just need to ride a scooter through the rice fields, pat every dog I meet, drink coffee with strangers and sit beneath a volcano remembering that life is much bigger, stranger and more sacred than the version we’ve been sold.

Oh, then I need to get a driver who prays for my aura, my health and my good luck on the way to the airport. Mission Complete – see you soon Oz!

Offri un cuppa a Rach

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Bali, Island of Gods